


In The Press of Every Kiss

by ghostboi



Series: Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean, Crazy Dean Winchester, Dark Dean Winchester, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M, Obsession, Possessive Dean Winchester, Sam is a Tease, Sam likes to feel owned by his brother, Serial Killer Dean, Submissive Sam, Sulking, Threats of Violence, Underage Sam, Wincest - Freeform, mildly masochist sam, threats of murder, too many tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam flirts with someone else and Dean doesn't like it. At all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Press of Every Kiss

"'Cause I'd do anything you want me to... for you.  
I'll do anything for you,  
Kill anyone for you."  
-Coheed and Cambria

It was 12 a.m. and the 16 year old was standing outside of a sketchy-looking bar. He stopped outside the door, debating on whether he should attempt to enter. He didn’t look old enough to get in and he knew it, but sometimes he got lucky.

He made it through the door but was halted several feet from it by a bouncer who was 6’ 5”, if he was an inch. “Whoa there, kid,” the big man stepped in front of him, “I don’t think you’re old enough to be in here. Gotta see some ID.” 

Sam Winchester shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, shoulders slumping slightly, and gave the big man a sheepish smile. “I’m not,” he admitted over the music playing, “I was looking for my big brother. I locked myself out of our room and I think he’s in here some place. I just need his key.”

The bouncer stared at him for a moment, before asking, “What’s his name?”  
“Dean Smith,” Sam gave the cover name they were using currently, “He’s tall – not as tall as you though – short brown hair. Um.. maybe wearing a leather jacket?”

The man nodded and said, “Alright. Wait right here. I mean it. I don’t wanna catch you one step further inside this bar. Wait. Right. Here.”  
Sam nodded in agreement and raised two fingers in a ‘v’ sign. “Scout’s honor,” he promised.  
The bouncer shot him another glance before turning and disappearing into the dimly-lit bar. 

Sam was studying the pictures hanging near the door when he heard, “Sammy?” He turned and found his brother standing behind him. The big bouncer was standing just behind Dean: the man nodded to him – Sam shot him a grateful smile – before moving into the shadows near the entrance. 

“What are you doing here?”  
Sam raised his eyes to his brother at the other’s question. Dean took hold of his arm and pulled him through the front entrance/exit: the music faded as they stepped outside and the door closed behind them.

“Hi, Dean,” he greeted his brother, looking up at the other.  
“What are you doing here?” Dean repeated; he was scowling at him now, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.  
Sam shrugged a shoulder as he averted his gaze, a pout on his lips. “Wanted to see if you were still mad at me.”  
“I told you to stay in the room.”

The teenager raised his eyes to his brother, studying him. Dean glanced back at the bar’s door before turning green eyes back to him. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, before asking, “Did you come here to pick someone up?”

“Is that your business?” the man retorted, scowling at him again.  
Sam shrugged, and Dean shot, “Yeah, maybe I did, Sam. Now go back to the room.”

It was Sam’s turn to scowl as he spat, “Fine.” He turned to walk away from his brother, but was pulled to a halt as Dean reached out and grabbed his arm.

“I mean it, Sam,” his brother warned, “Go back to the room.”

“’Course, Dean,” he shot his brother a smile that was anything but sincere, “Not like I’m gonna go pick anyone up and take them home with me.” With that, he jerked his arm free of his brother’s grip and headed down the sidewalk.

“I’m not fucking around, Sam!” Dean called after him, anger tracing his voice. 

Sam shrugged without turning to look at his brother and crossed the empty street. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Dean entering the bar again, and raised a hand to flip him off. Even if his brother didn’t see the gesture, it made him feel a little better.

Sixteen kills. Sixteen kills his brother had made since they had begun to travel on the road two years ago, the Impala and whatever cheap rooms they stopped at their homes. Sam kept a mental track of them, and a physical one in a small notebook (though he labeled those as “landmarks visited” with cities, towns and rest areas written in a code only he knew – he wasn’t daft enough to write down actual details that could be used as evidence). 

He appeared to be the all-American, rock-music-loving, classic-car-driving sort of guy, but Dean had a darkness to him. Dark urges which drove him to do dark things, drove him to kill those he felt deserved it (or didn’t feel anything for at all). He was efficient in his methods, graceful, and Sam found him absolutely beautiful in those moments. In all moments, really, but especially in those moments.

Six of those sixteen, Sam had been the ‘bait’. Luring an unsuspecting soul to their death by his brother’s hand. He hadn’t really felt guilty about those – these were people who were willing and ready to pick up and screw around with an underage kid, for fuck’s sake. Who knew what else they were doing? And it helped Dean to fulfill those dark urges that consumed him sometimes. He would do anything for his brother, anything at all, including that. 

Last night would have been number 17 (and number 7 with him as the lure). He had been distracted, though, by the picture on the man’s keychain. Had asked about the young face in the plastic that hung from the keys, and the man had informed him that it was his son. He had told him that he only got to see him every couple weeks because he traveled for work, and he and the boy’s mother had split up right after the kid’s birth. The smile on his face had been genuine when speaking of his son, and then the man had shaken his head and told him, quite suddenly, “This isn’t right. I wouldn’t want anyone picking up my kid like this. I can’t do this.”

Instead of trying to distract him from those thoughts, lure him in with promises of anything he wanted, Sam had let him walk away. Dean had been okay with it, at first: sometimes the target didn’t play along. It happened. He had mentioned, though, that the guy had a kid and maybe he really cared and was a ‘good dad’. 

Taboo words, when speaking with his brother. He knew that, but sometimes he forgot.

Dean had gotten angry then. He had reminded Sam that there was no such thing as a ‘good dad’; that it was an illusion. Sam didn’t usually argue that point: he remembered their own bastard of a father. Still.. that man’s smile had seemed honest, and Sam had said that maybe there were some, even if their own wasn’t one of them.

Dean had punched a hole in the drywall and had stormed out. When he returned hours later, smelling of whiskey and cheap perfume, he had refused to speak to Sam beyond instructing him to go to bed. That had lasted through this morning and evening, as well. 

Sam hated it when Dean ignored him like that. He hated when his brother wouldn’t speak to him. The older man did it as punishment and he hated it. He hated it most when the man went to someone else to find what he needed. If Sam couldn’t be that for him.. 

The sixteen year old shook his head as he moved up the sidewalk, in the direction of the motel he and Dean were lodged in for the night. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, loathing the tears that were filling them. He came upon a bus stop and took a seat on the bench there: he wondered, only for a split second, what Dean would do if he got on a bus and stayed on it until the end of the line. Then got on one that was leaving town, and stayed on _it_.. 

Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t leave his brother, not for any reason. Not even if Dean never spoke to him again. He loved him far too much to ever leave him.

He sniffed and wiped his hand across his eyes again, his gaze on the ground. The boy raised his head as he heard,  
“Hey kid. You okay?”

His eyes fell on a man leaning against the glass wall of the bus stop booth, watching him. Early twenties maybe, tall, blond, blue eyes. Sam stared at him for a moment before averting his gaze and nodding yes.  
“I’m okay.”

The man nodded and dropped his eyes back to the cell phone he held. After a minute, his gaze returned to Sam. The boy watched from the corner of his eye as the blond moved away from the wall and crossed to the bench. He shook his head no and scooted over a bit when the man motioned to the bench and asked, “You mind?” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the man texting on his cell phone and Sam staring out at cars passing by. He glanced at the stranger as he was asked, “Where you going?”

“Home,” he traced a finger around a hole in the knee of his jeans, tugging at the frayed fabric. His hazel gaze lifted to the man as the stranger asked, “Do you like parties?” He raised a brow, and the other chuckled.  
“I’m in a frat on campus,” the blond told him, “Heading to a party right now. You’re welcome to tag along.”  
“I’m probably not old enough,” he admitted, glancing at the other from beneath his lashes and pouting slightly, “I’m just 16.” He saw the blond’s gaze fall to his mouth before shifting to meet his own.  
“I’ll sneak you in,” Blondie offered with a grin and a wink, “I doubt anyone would say anything.” 

Sam bit his bottom lip, sucking on it lightly – the other watched, licking his own lips – and pretended to contemplate the question. “What kind of party?” he asked finally, offering the man a mischievous smile, “Can I drink?” His shiver was genuine as Blondie leaned in close to whisper in his ear,  
“You can do anything you want.”  
“Is it one of those parties where there are orgies and shit?”  
The man let out a surprised laugh at the question, before leaning in close to murmur, “It could be. Would you like that?”  
“Yeah, maybe,” he replied; another glance from beneath his lashes had Blondie muttering a soft curse. They looked over as a bus approached, slowing down as it neared the stop, and Blondie shot him another wink, “Come on, party with me.”

The blond’s next curse was one of surprised pain as a hand tangled in his hair suddenly and jerked him backward, away from Sam. Sam raised his head, startled, and met his brother’s angry green gaze. 

“Beat it, you fuck,” the older Winchester growled at the college student. He released the blond, whom leapt to his feet. The man turned to face Dean, opened his mouth to speak, but froze as he caught the dangerous look in Dean’s eyes. He cast a glance at Sam, whom shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry,” before turning and climbing quickly onto the waiting bus. The bus driver waited a moment longer, but pulled away from the bus stop when Sam waved him on.

“What the fuck, Sam?”

The teenager met his big brother’s gaze, saw the rage there, and fidgeted where he sat.  
“I told you to go back to the room.”  
“I was,” he protested, “I was on my way.”  
“You were sitting here flirting with some stupid fuck!”  
Sam shrugged a lean shoulder and scowled, “So? You were trying to pick up someone at the bar. What’s the difference?”  
“The difference,” Dean’s fingers tangled in his hair and the man pulled him off the bench and against him, “is that you belong to me!”  
Sam bit back his whimper, fought the urge to press up hard against his brother. “Doesn’t stop you from picking up people in bars,” he muttered instead.

A whimper did escape him as Dean jerked him close and caught his mouth in a possessive kiss. Sam was left breathless when they parted; he stared up at Dean as the other man growled,  
“Do you know how close I was to cutting that fucker’s throat right here on the fucking street? Is that what you want?”

He tried to shake his head no, but his brother’s fingers were still wrapped in his hair and prevented it.

“Because I will,” the older man continued, “Say the word and I will slice open anyone for you. _Anyone_. Right here, Sam, in front of God and man.” 

The teen swallowed hard, the gravity of that promise hitting him. He bit his lip as he met his brother’s gaze and saw tears in Dean’s green eyes. His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, “Dean..”

“Why do you want to do this to me?” Dean released him and stepped back, putting several feet of distance between them, “Did you want that guy to fuck you, Sam? Did you want him? You want someone else?”

Sam shook his head no, arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself. “’Course I don’t.” 

“Then why, Sam?”

“You were with someone else last night, Dean!” he shouted, voice breaking on his brother’s name, “You were gonna be with someone else tonight! How is that any different?”

“Because they’re not you!” the older man ran a hand through his hair in agitation as he paced in front of Sam, “They don’t matter to me. Because –“ His brother shook his head, shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, head turned away. 

“Because what, Dean?”

“Because I’m the only one you’ve ever been with!” Anger traced the other’s voice now, “You swore I would be the only one! Just me, Sam. That’s what you told me. You said you wanted only me. You said you were mine.” Dean crossed the short distance between them, grabbed his shoulders in a bruising grip, “Was that just talk? Just empty words?”

Sam looked away, refusing to meet his brother’s gaze. Of course they hadn’t been empty words: he had meant them. He meant them still. He was pissed, though; Dean had said very little to him in two days, had picked up someone in a bar and had been working on a second tonight, and now he was upset that Sam was flirting with someone else?

Sam’s eyes jerked back to Dean, startled, as the man suddenly shoved him back against the glass wall of the bus stop booth. The man’s green gaze, locked on him now, was possessive, filled with rage. Sam swallowed hard as his brother slipped a hand to his throat.

“I’ll fucking cut open anyone you’re with,” the words were a growled promise, “I’ll make you watch while I rip them apart, you hear me?” Dean pressed closer as he leaned in to growl in his ear, “You are _mine_ , Sam, and if anyone so much as touches you, I will end them.”

“Dean..” his brother’s name was a whimpered plea from his lips, his hips arching against the older man. His entire body was aching, wired; Dean’s angry threats, his bruising grip, his possessive gaze, were all undoing Sam. 

Some of the anger left Dean’s eyes, replaced by an entirely different kind of heat, as Sam pressed against him. A soft moan escaped his throat as his big brother tangled fingers in his hair, pulling hard, the other hand sliding over his hip to grip his ass. 

“You like that?” Dean stared down at him, studying his reactions, “Tell me you want it, Sammy, and I’ll do it right now. We’ll find someone and I’ll rip ‘em apart for you. Just for you, baby boy. I’ll fuck you on top of ‘em while they’re bleeding out.”

Sam moaned again, hands sliding down Dean’s back to urge him closer. “Dean, please,” he whispered as he ground his hips against the other man; he could feel Dean’s erection through his jeans, wanted to feel more, “Want you to fuck me.” 

“Now, baby?” Dean mouthed the skin beneath his ear, biting lightly, and Sam whined softly, molding his body against his brother’s. “I’ll fuck you right here on the goddamn street if that’s what you want, baby. Anything for you, Sammy.”

Tempting, far too tempting, but he didn’t want either of them to end up in jail. “Room,” he breathed against Dean’s mouth, drawing a low growl from the other, “Take me back to the room and fuck me hard.”

Dean licked a heated path up the side of his neck – Sam nearly melted where he stood – before stepping back. The bigger man took his hand and, turning, headed for the motel two streets over, pulling Sam behind him. 

When they reached the motel room, Sam found himself shoved up against the door. He shuddered in need as Dean pressed against him, nipped at his throat hard enough to bruise. 

“Didn’t pick anyone else up last night. Thought about it but she wasn’t you. Told her to fuck off,” his brother murmured, fingers tangling in Sam’s hair. Lips brushed his throat, teeth biting and marking him, and he whined in need. 

“Gonna open you up, baby,” his brother’s husky, hungry voice at his ear sent shivers through Sam, “Gonna fuck you open with my fingers. Might slide my knife in and fuck you with it before I put my dick in you.” 

“Deeean..” Sam moaned at the other’s words, grinding his crotch hard against the knee that was pressed between his thighs. Dean jerked the key out of his pocket and, after fumbling with it for a minute, managed to unlock the door. Sam found himself shoved inside; Dean stalked in after him, closing and locking the door and tossing the key in the direction of the room’s table. 

“Mine,” his brother growled, reaching him and pulling him close for a surprisingly gentle kiss, “Don’t you fucking leave me, Sammy. Couldn’t make it without you. I would hunt you down if you left me, put an end to us both.”

“Never, Dean,” he promised, nuzzling against his brother’s throat, “’m yours and I’ll never leave you. Ever.” 

Those weren’t just empty promises: Sam meant every word.


End file.
